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Gambling , Sex and Tragedies

Gambling , Sex and Tragedies

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Gambling , Sex and Tragedies

194 pagine
3 ore
May 31, 2012


'Gambling, Sex and Tragedies' is a true story of the author's life from the tender age of 18. With his introduction to his first addiction, David Lee's story will make you laugh out loud in some very embarrassing moments to teary eyed with the tragedy of losing someone special and even shocked how candid he could bein revealing some of the demons he has never told a soul about, until now.

There are all kind of vices; from smoking, drinking, gambling, drugs, to prostitutes. David Lee has spent all his adult life with two of these vices. This book details a man's struggle of his unstoppable addiction to gambling on horses and the casinos, to his womanising ways, including his preference for brothels and paying for sex.

Although the premise of his life appears to be about his gambling and sex life, he wants readers to understand his book is much more than having vices. It is about dealing with tragedy and how life appears to be just one big obstacle course.

We all have our faults and we all have skeletons in our closets. After all, we're only human and like everyone else the author is littered with faults and insecurities.

May 31, 2012

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Gambling , Sex and Tragedies - David Lee

Gambling, Sex and Tragedies

David Lee

Smashwords Edition

Gambling, Sex and Tragedies

Copyright © 2011 David Lee

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

The information, views, opinions and visuals expressed in this publication are solely those of the author(s) and do not reflect those of the publisher. The publisher disclaims any liabilities or responsibilities whatsoever for any damages, libel or liabilities arising directly or indirectly from the contents of this publication.

A copy of this publication can be found in the National Library of Australia.

ISBN: 9781742840246

Published by Book Pal

To my late Mother

Although she may be bemused by some of its content, I know she will understand.


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20


It was due to my ex-wife Donna who on her insistence convinced me to write what has in most parts been secrets I have kept to myself and who now in her own words has said to me, ‘now I understand you a bit better’.

Although my story takes me from my first sexual experience with a prostitute as a young man and then to the start of addiction or bad habits such as gambling and womanising throughout my whole adult life, my life has also been tinged with unfortunate tragedies and extremely sad events. One thing in life I have always tried to do is not intentionally hurt or deliberately offend anyone and certainly not the people I love, but no one really has control of their life, all we can hope for is to make the right decisions that suit ourselves at the time.

No one can predict the future, all we can do is reflect on the past, I look back on many things with regret but equally there are many things I look back on with satisfaction. We all have our faults and we all have skeletons in our closets, so after you read my story, give an opinion but please don’t judge me, because I promise not to judge you.

Chapter 1

It’s funny you know, how everyone has a vice in one form another. No one’s perfect as the saying goes, and if you believe you are, then you are in denial and need your head read.

We all have vices; from smoking and drinking, to gambling, drugs and womanising. I know, because I have spent all my adult life with two of these vices, thank goodness only two; some people have all of the above and more.

Here I am again, just relaxing in my hotel room in Sydney. Feeling lonely and a bit sad, I decide to call for room service. Not the regular overpriced, cold, room service hamburger and limp fries that you order when you stay alone in a hotel. No! but just like many times before, alone in a hotel I instinctively reach for the yellow pages and thumb straight to the escort section. Hmm... e. e. e. e... yes… escorts, I’m mumbling to myself as I carefully examine each page, looking for the escort agency that I think will best serve my libido. ‘Perhaps a sexy blonde?’ I think to myself. ‘No, I think I feel like Asian tonight. Yes I’ve decided, Asian it will be. So just like a forensic investigator, I focus on all Ads that specialise in Asian girls - and in particular - Korean girls. I just love Korean girls, I say aloud. Ah! This looks good, I say aloud, grinning like a Cheshire cat;

"Beautiful Asian Courtesans for your pleasure, discreet 24hr callout, we will satisfy all your wildest desires…" the ad continues.

Using my mobile phone, I promptly call the number listed. Within two short rings, a pleasant sounding voice answers with, 93333888, can I help you?

Yes! I say to the seductive voice at the other end of the phone. I want a beautiful girl for two hours tonight. How much is it per hour? I ask.

$250 per hour, Sir, she replies.

Hmm! $250 per hour, so $500 for two hours, I say.

Yes Sir, do you want her to stay longer? she inquires.

Hmm maybe, but I’ll decide when she gets here, Ok? I say.

Ok Sir, what type of girl would you like? We have Chinese, Korean, and Thai girls. All of them are very pretty, the seductive voice said.

‘Korean, I reply. And she must be beautiful. If she’s not, I will not accept her. I will send her back.

Don’t worry, Sir she replies. We will send our best girl, her name’s Koko. She’s a beautiful 21 year-old Korean girl, you won’t be disappointed. What time would you like her? she asks.

Nine o’clock, I reply.

Are you paying cash?

Yes! Yes! I’m paying cash, I reply.

And your address, Sir she asks.

Room 245, Hilton Hotel, I reply. To once again reinforce my earlier request, I again say to the woman at the end of the line, in a stern and forceful voice, Remember, she must be beautiful, Korean and no older than 21.

Don’t worry, Sir. We will send our best girl. Can I have your name, Sir? she asks.

David, I reply.

OK, David. Koko will be there at 9 o’clock. Thanks for your call. With booking completed, I hang up my phone. For a brief moment, I reflect on my conversation with the seductive voice at the end of the line. Having performed this type of ritual on numerous occasions over the years, I know from past experience that if you are not forceful and specific, you are often disappointed. The girl they send you is often ten years older, and completely different to what you want. It’s a case of buyer beware I suppose.

Strange isn’t it, it’s just like ordering a hamburger from room service. Instead of satisfying one’s appetite, you satisfy your sexual need. I know it’s not only me, when I stay at a hotel. I hear and read about it all the time; some high profile individual has been caught doing exactly what I have just done. Why do you think hotels have honeymoon suites? Why is it when a couple plan a dirty weekend, they book a room in a hotel? Why do hotels rent their guest’s X-rated movies? And why does research show that hotels are one of the world’s biggest supporters of soft core X-rated movies? Why? It’s because sex and a hotel bed go hand in hand.

9pm. Hmm... Well it’s only 6pm now. With three hours before my appointment, I turn on the TV, sit back and relax with a cup of tea as my mind wanders back to how this addiction first began.

I remember, I was 18 years old then living in Perth, without a girlfriend and was desperate to savour the joys of sex and the touch of a real girl. I promised myself that when I turned eighteen, I would have sex. Every single day, without fail, I would thumb through the personal section of the newspaper. Although the Ads back then were not as blatantly selling sex as they are in today’s newspapers, I had a feeling these Ads were what I was after.

Date’s for all occasions’, ‘Beautiful dinner companion’, many of these Ads would often read.

Finally, on one of those still summer nights we have during summer, I summoned up all my courage and convinced myself the time had come. Tonight was the night to bite the bullet and remove the shackles of virginity, so to speak. I told my parents I was just going for a drive, and with clean undies on, teeth brushed and bladder emptied, I boldly exited the house.

I hopped in my red Toyota Corolla, feeling exhilarated as I slowly and carefully drove to a shop located along William Street. Having previously passed and cased the shop on numerous occasions, I was convinced that it was definitely a brothel. How many times have I seen the Ad in the paper? Memorising the number, over and over; shop number 492 William Street, shop number 492 William Street. Don’t forget, I kept reminding myself.

Parking not too close to the shop, just in case someone might recognise my car. I was parked just close enough so as to see the shop entrance. Looking at my watch and noting it was only 7:45pm, I decide 8pm would be an appropriate time to make my move. So, while sitting nervously in the car, I first double checked my wallet, I had the money. I then began going through my mind, rehearsing what I’m going to say once inside the building.

Eh! How much do you charge?

Eh! How much for sex? Ahh!

'Should I say sex or fuck? Shit! How am I supposed to know what to say? I don’t want to sound like a complete fucking dumb ass virgin, do I?’

I mumbled to myself, while feeling beads of perspiration forming on my upper lip. I again mumble, This is just too fucking nerve racking. Holding my breath, just as my watch strikes 8pm, I fling open the car door and exit all in one motion. All the while, I was thinking to myself how stupid and embarrassed I would be if it turns out not to be a brothel at all, but a proper dating agency. Strange, I still remember it well, even though it was well over 30-odd years ago. The shop front is still there, having changed very little. Although it is no longer the shopfront for a house of ill repute, I still have clear memories of that momentous day.

Being young, I was as nervous as hell. Why is it, when you are nervous, you always have to pee? Barely able to walk straight, as I strode closer and closer to the shop entrance, I felt like I was in a trance, being drawn inextricability like a moth towards the brightly lit shopfront entrance. A situation made easier by the double front doors being wide open, maybe to attract customers or maybe to catch a breeze, it being such a warm, still night. With the bright lights of the shop luring me through the front doors, I find myself all alone at the entrance, standing out like a beacon in a lighthouse with nowhere to hide.

As I stand there feeling extremely self conscious, I feel my face flush with embarrassment as I imagine every pair of eyes in the room staring at me. However, much to my relief, the fact was no one in the room even noticed me entering, or paid any attention to my presence. As I looked around the brightly lit room, my immediate focus is to the left hand side of the room where a fat middle aged man with drink in hand is talking to a blond haired woman. Both of them were sitting around what appeared to be like a bar setting. On the other side of the room, sitting all alone in a lounge chair, sat a dark haired woman reading a magazine. Not knowing where to go, I instinctively walk towards the dark haired woman, who glances up at me briefly and with complete disinterest, she says to me,

Sit anywhere, Darling, it won’t be long.

I immediately comply and choose a seat close to the dark haired woman. I sat there for what seemed like ages, with not a word being spoken, except for the fat man and woman whispering and occasionally laughing on the other side of the room.

As I wait, my mind is racing; was I in the right place? Was this a brothel? Were these women prostitutes? Strange - they don’t look like prostitutes (not that I knew what a prostitute was suppose to look like). I begin to question myself; maybe this is just a dating service? I began to worry, until finally, not being able to handle the suspense any longer and ready to explode with anxiety, I knew I had to ask the question. With a strong confident voice, I interrupt the dark haired woman reading her magazine and say,

Excuse me. How much do you charge?

I don’t remember the price she said, but whatever the price was, I knew I had the money having previously counted it a dozen or more times earlier. Better to make certain I had too much money than not enough, I reasoned. Glancing at me again with a more animated expression on her face, almost like she knew it was going to be my first time; she again asks me to wait and says it won’t be long.

After about 15 minutes, the dark haired woman puts down her magazine, turns to me and says,

Who do you want to see darling?

Hmm, who do I want?

As I quietly murmur to myself, making eye contact with the dark haired woman, with the blank expression on her face.

Who do I want?

‘Do I have a choice?’ I thought, ‘Who do I want?’

‘Well there was basically only one woman available,’ I thought, the other woman was talking to the fat middle age man and I was sitting next to the dark haired woman. So unless I was going to pry the blond haired woman away from the fat man at the bar, and possibly risk a punch in the face, I had a choice of one. So nervously and unsure what the protocol was in selecting the woman I wanted to have sex with, I pointed my finger towards the dark haired woman and in a quiet voice uttered,


Thus with the utterance of this one simple word, my first foray into the world of vice and addiction was cemented.

Being only 18, skinny and young looking for my age, I didn’t know what my dark haired beauty must have thought of me. In truth, she most probably didn’t give me a second thought, as for me she holds pride of place as my first time, doesn’t everyone remember their very first time? I found it hard in those days to guess the dark haired woman’s age, at a guess today, I would say she was in her late twenties. She no stunner by any imagination, but not unattractive either. Wearing a little black dress with sparkles through it, my dark haired companion was dressed more like a woman going out on a date with her boyfriend, than what I had stereotyped in my mind as to what prostitutes should wear. After my bold and forceful selection from a selection of one, she indicates for me to follow her out of the shop, and we proceed to enter a car which had just stopped and parked directly across from of the shop. As I open the passenger door, a woman exits the driver’s seat at the same time and hands a set of keys to my dark haired date.

Where are we going? I ask.

To the hotel, she replies.

Ten minutes later, with not a word spoken between us, we drive up to the Travelodge - the one in front of Langley Park, where she then leads the way to one of the rooms with me following meekly after her. On entering the room and closing the door, my dark haired date then says to me,

OK, Darling! Can you give me the money now?

With sweaty palms, I hastily reach into my pocket and give her the exact amount. As she then proceeds to put the money in her handbag she says,

Darling, take your clothes off now and put them on this seat.

With a degree of embarrassment and with my erection now pulsating through my jeans, I comply and take my clothes off.

I remember asking her, What do I get for my money?

Her reply was; A full strip and sex.

Back in those days, condoms weren’t used, and the girls examined your dick for any signs of STD’s. I must confess I miss those

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